The Last Night
by Insanity's Servant
Summary: As a rule, Tony Stark never takes calls from other people's lawyers—especially not after 2 A.M. But when he finds out that an old one-night-stand resulted in both new life and a sudden death, he finds himself caught between the past and the present, and embarks on another one-night journey that will mark his life forever. Rated T for some mature themes. Written by Alassiel.
1. Midnight Call

_Once again, Insanity's Servant has been very merciful in allowing me to hijack her account with my stories. You might remember me from How to Live with a Demigod 101: Alassiel is back! But not with a comedy this time. This is a very different, standalone fic, but I got hit with a plot bunny at 2:00 AM on Saturday, and when I pulled out my laptop to sketch out a few notes, it grew into a small three-part story. _

_Set before Iron Man 3 and after The Avengers, I wasn't quite sure where this little story fit in, so I simply filed it under "Avengers." It spills over into the Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. universe; spoilers ahead if you haven't at least seen the pilot episode. Some minor (but spoiler) references to the 11th episode "It's A Magical Place" later as well, and if you've been following along, it will explain why Coulson is the way he is in Part II of this fic. _

_Those of you who are following Case Red know that I have been struggling to keep my head above the water with illness and education and my original writing endeavors, and that updates have become a rarity lately. I'm sorry we are not yet able to officially suspend the hiatus; however, please humor me this introspective tale, and I think you'll enjoy gazing through the window into the past life and present dilemmas of Tony Stark._

* * *

><p>Part One: Midnight Call<p>

_**"There's no better cure for the fear of taking after one's father,**_

_**than not to know who he is."**_

_**― André Gide**_

"Mmh…"

Rolling over, Tony Stark buried his face in the memory foam mattress and pulled the pillow over his head. What _was_ that incessant buzzing? Was he having a hangover, or was he dreaming again?

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. _

Clamping his elbows down over the ends of the pillow, Tony shifted to a more comfortable position and kicked the covers down a little further. It was a warm summer night and he'd left the windows open.

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. _

It was more muffled now, but still an unpleasant intrusion on his hitherto pleasant sleep. He'd just been woken up from a wonderful dream about a pool party… Something to do with several dozen adoring women in designer bikinis, and he was desperate to find out how it ended.

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. _

Grumbling profanties, Tony shoved the pillow to one side and fumbled in the bedsheets, feeling for something hard and square. There was no denying it now. That had to be his phone. Hadn't he turned it off before bed?

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bz—_

Dragging himself across the lumpy covers, Tony made a blind swipe for the nightstand and missed. His knuckles grazed the surface, but the phone went spinning wildly out of reach and tipped off the edge of the table, flopping under the bed. A more muffled vibration scolded him from under the plain white dust ruffle.

_Fffvvt. Fffvvt. Fffvvt._

"Oh, for…"

Wriggling to the edge of the mattress, he draped himself over the side of the bed and felt underneath, combing the soft carpet with his fingertips.

Cold, flat, and rectangular, there it sat.

With a triumphant little "hah," Tony fished it out from under the ruffle and held it two inches before his eyes, blinking in the dark at the little white caller I.D. At least, it should have been the caller I.D., but all it said was _Protected_.

It took several minutes and a few more curse words for this to register, but when it did, Tony took a few wild guesses at who would be calling under a secure number and then moved his finger toward the talk button.

Except he pressed the "End Call" button instead.

Stuffing his phone under the pillow, Tony flopped down on the memory foam and covered his eyes with the back of his arm. Back to that dream…

_Fffvvt. Fffvvt. Fffvvt._

Sliding his hand between the pillow and bedsheets, Tony withdrew the phone and let it dangle above his head from two fingers. There was only one annoying top secret organization who would have the nerve to call him at this hour.

_Bzzt! Bzzt!_

Cradling the phone in his palm, he brushed the talk button with his thumb.

"Who is this… and whatever you want, I don't have it," Tony mumbled, speaking around a mouthful of sleep. His lips were dry and cracking and his tongue felt a little numb.

_"Mr. Stark?"_

"Does this have anything to do with a pool party?"

_"A… no."_ The voice faded for a moment, and then returned with more conviction. _"Mr. Stark, this is an urgent call."_

"And I have an urgent need for sleep, so unless you look good in a bikini or you're about to offer me a margarita with a little umbrella in it, I can't take your call."

_"This is Agent Coulson."_

"That doesn't change anything."

_"It might if I said you'd be a lot happier if you cooperated."_

Stifling a yawn, Tony tried to rub some of the sleep from his eyes with his free hand. "How did you even get this number?"

_"I said this was an urgent call. We need to talk."_

"I could have sworn I had it changed…"

_"Mr. Stark, I'm sitting with Mr. Botoni, Attorney at Law, and he wants to arrange a meeting with you today at exactly three o' clock in our debriefing office."_

Attorney at Law? Was he being sued again for the collateral damage caused to New York? Tony blinked and sighed, trying to keep the ceiling from spinning around. "AM or PM?"

"_PM_."

"No."

There was a brief moment of silence. "_AM_?"

"Ha ha."

_"Listen Mr. Stark, this is serious."_

"Am I being sued?"

_"Not exactly."_

"Prosecuted?"

_"I'm afraid not. Does the name 'Lila Harding' sound familiar?"_

Tony stopped breathing for a moment and his heart gave an ominous thump. A few vivid flashes of memory assaulted him, and then a long silence of the mind. If he'd been dreaming before, he was wide awake now. The static from the connection filled in the dead space as Tony brooded.

_"Mr. Stark?"_

With a soft flick of his thumb, Tony ended the call. His phone went dead and dark, and fell from his hand to his chest with a quiet clink. The gentle glow of his arc reactor lent the room a ghostly ambient light as he held his breath, listening to the silence.

The phone slept on.

Tony made a mental note to tell Pepper he had an appointment at three o' clock.

* * *

><p><em>If your curiosity is piqued, tell me! I'm sure all of you know the power of a piece of constructive criticism or a kind remark, and even when I don't have time to answer them all they still bring a smile to my face. <em>_Some may wonder why Tony Stark was not surprised by Coulson's appearance, but my only explanation is that it simply works better for the flow of the story. At some prior time, it is implied that he has been notified by SHIELD, likely with the rest of the Avengers._

_And make sure you check out Insanity's Servant's works of fiction – she's an amazing writer, and recently uploaded a heartpoundingly good one-shot based on the Elder Scrolls Series. I'm not a gamer, but I can recommend it for the sheer dramatic impact._

_As always, review for an update! I'll do my best to finish this little adventure before the month is out, but again, my time to write freely is limited._

_Much love to all,_

_Alassiel_


	2. Spilled Secrets

_This story has grown very close to my heart over the course of its development, short though it may be, so your responses were __very__ much appreciated! :) I should also mention that I was greatly inspired by The Ultimate Gift and Family Man – two amazing movies with a powerful message, though for the latter I'd advise a filter for younger audiences._

_(Very) minor spoilers ahead for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. "It's a Magical Place."_

_Enough said; enjoy Part II!_

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><p>Part Two: Spilled Secrets<p>

**_"It has been said that as goes the family, so goes the world. _**

**_It can also be said that as goes the father, so goes the family."  
>― Voddie T. Baucham Jr.<em>**

"Where's Hogan?"

Tony shrugged, brushing back the hood of his grey sweatshirt and stuffing his hands in his pockets as the door swung shut behind him. There was a subtle click, and then the only light came from a single fluorescent fixture that ran across the ceiling. The back room of the New York carpet shop smelled like fresh linoleum and factory glue, and the air fresheners hung around the 'office' at various intervals did little to alleviate the oppressive odor. "I don't know. The coffee shop, maybe."

"You came here without a bodyguard?" Coulson lowered his ever-present shades and gave Tony a below-the-brows stare. The light from above shone off his receding hairline and dark glasses, making him appear slightly more intimidating than usual.

"Skip the lecture, Phil," Tony demanded, cocking his head to one side and rocking back on the balls of his sneakers. "When are you planning to strap me to a chair, shine a bright light in my eyes, and start the interrogation? You call me at two o' clock in the morning, tell me it's urgent, and then hang up—"

"Actually, _you_ hung up on _me_."

"—so don't give me that old protective supervisor stuff." He waved him off with a careless flick of his wrist, but the longer he talked, the tighter grew the knot in his chest. "I can take care of myself. What did you bring me down here for? I want the dirt."

"I'll give it to you," promised Coulson.

"Good." Tony pulled out a folding chair from the long table and kicked it open, but he didn't sit down. Not yet. "You can start by telling me why Lila Harding is suing me."

Coulson made a smoothing motion with one hand, the face of his wristwatch glinting in the dim light. "Nobody's suing you."

"Far from it." The voice was deep, stern, and authoritative, and instantly commanded not only Tony's attention but Coulson's as well. As one, they turned toward the table, where Tony now noticed a short and rather broad silhouette sitting at the far end.

"Mr. Botoni," he guessed, but there was nothing hospitable in his tone.

"Mr. Stark," returned the lawyer more pleasantly, rising from his chair and setting aside a stack of papers. "As an alternative to legal details, I have a small proposition that may settle things right away."

"And I won't hear anything until I know what Harding has to do with this," insisted Tony. "Where is she? What's going on?"

Mr. Botoni didn't blink. "She died on September 23, 2008."

For once, Tony had nothing to say. His lungs emptied in a tight, quick sigh, but it was more of an agitated breath than a resignation. Words fled. He was too startled to notice Coulson's hand gently pressed against the back of his shoulder; if he had, he would have shrugged it off immediately, but as it was, the stalwart agent's comfort was neither accepted nor rejected.

There was no pause, no time to think. Mr. Botoni simply continued with his proposition as if nothing of importance had been announced. "It is not on the late Miss Harding's behalf that I come here today, but rather on behalf of a Mrs. Jung, someone who has a more intimate connection to you than you might expect. And it was not, per se, on an errand of prosecution, but an errand of mercy." The lawyer casually picked the top leaf from the stack, his gaze flicking over it briefly, though this was clearly just for show. He seemed to know his case—if it could be called a case from his manner of speaking—inside and out. "Mr. Stark, please accept my belated congratulations."

Without another word, Mr. Botoni stepped across the dark office and handed him the small and unassuming paper.

* * *

><p><strong>CERTIFICATION OF LIVE BIRTH<strong>

STATE OF IDAHO * SMELTERVILLE

DEPARTMENT OF STRATEGIC HOMELAND INTERVENTION

ENFORCEMENT AND LOGISTICS DIVISION

CERTIFICATE NO. 579399095571106

CHILD'S NAME: CHRISTINA ANTOINETTE HARDING

DATE OF BIRTH: September 23, 2008

HOUR OF BIRTH: 12:01 AM

SEX: FEMALE

CITY, TOWN, OR LOCATION OF BIRTH: SMELTERVILLE

COUNTY OF BIRTH: SHOSHONE

MOTHER'S MAIDEN NAME: LILA ROSE HARDING

MOTHER'S RACE: CAUCASIAN

FATHER'S NAME: ANTHONY EDWARD STARK

FATHER'S RACE: CAUCASIAN

DATE FILED BY REGISTRAR: October 2, 2008

_This copy serves as prima facie evidence of the fact of birth in any court proceeding, but is to remain in custody of the Idaho State Branch of Homeland Intervention unless otherwise directed._

**ANY ALTERATIONS INVALIDATE THIS CERTIFICATE**

* * *

><p>Tony was suddenly glad he had pulled out the folding chair. It squeaked as he sat down heavily and slapped the certificate onto the table.<p>

"It isn't uncommon for clients to run out the door at this point in the proceedings," remarked the lawyer coolly. "Your self-control is admirable."

Nobody spoke for several minutes.

The overhead light buzzed, and flickered.

Coulson reached up to loosen his tie.

And then something shifted in the air, prompting Tony to voice his observations. "This is a SHIELD-issue certificate," he noticed apprehensively, tracing his finger over the logo in the upper right-hand corner.

"Yes." It was Coulson. "Miss Harding had been hiding from the public for some time, and it took us several months to track her down, but we finally found her at a shelter in Smelterville, Idaho. She gave up everything—family support and financial aid. Most of it was poor decision-making on her part, but it's apparent that she barely knew what to do with herself. She didn't want to be found, but we made sure she remained safe and paid all expenses for the remainder of her life… short as it was." Coulson drew in a quiet breath and pulled out the chair beside Tony's. "Mr. Botoni requested that it be handed over to him. The president of Personal Affairs refused, but he kept asking down the line and eventually I got wind of it."

Glancing up, Tony was surprised to see Coulson's stare glistening in the light, and a few creases had wrinkled up around tired eyes. He'd never known the agent to wear his heart on his sleeve about anything. "And—you handed it to him? Just like that?"

Coulson didn't answer Tony's question, but turned his head a little and squinted down at the certificate, as if seeing it for the first time. "We changed her last name to Lowe and moved her around for her first few years in foster care," he said rather distantly. "I wasn't put in charge of the case myself, but I did some digging yesterday. Eventually, things got tough, and moving her wasn't an option anymore."

Tony's heart caught in his chest, sticking to his ribs and strangling him. He couldn't have said a word even if he'd wanted to.

"Nobody wanted to take her into direct SHIELD custody, so we settled her down with an adoption and tried to keep her out of the public eye. Not even her adoptive parents knew anything—until one of her old foster families made a call." The stress lines around Coulson's mouth tightened and he nodded toward Mr. Botoni. "That's when her adoptive mother, Mrs. Jung, started asking questions. Somehow, word got around to Mr. Botoni, and he volunteered to be her lawyer… for a very good reason. He knows SHIELD inside and out."

Mr. Botoni smiled serenely. "That is correct. And you know why I no longer work for government agencies."

"We don't need to go into that now," Coulson said firmly, giving Mr. Botoni a pointed stare.

Tony interrupted their face-off with a weary question; he felt even more tired than he had when Coulson called at two o' clock. He hadn't slept the rest of the night, and the information the lawyer had just assaulted him with had come too thick and fast to process all at once. "What's your proposition? Some kind of… settlement?" His query seemed ashamedly hollow and materialistic, even to him. He almost wished it _was_ a settlement, and alternately hoped for it and hated himself.

"Well, Mr. Stark," said Mr. Botoni, turning and facing him with a look of utmost seriousness that didn't fail to annoy the billionaire. "I am sure you will share in my incredulity that Mrs. Jung _isn't_ filing for financial support. I told her who the child's father was, of course, it was only fair that my client know everything; however, she made it clear that she didn't want to trouble you any more than necessary. On the flip side, she does have a favor to ask of you."

Tony felt his stomach turn. His fingers sweated on the desk, wrinkling into the edges of the birth certificate, and he swallowed a bitter lump. "Favor, huh."

"Yes, a favor, and whether you choose to uphold it or ignore it is entirely a matter of conscience and free will. I offered to press charges—" Here Tony got the distinct feeling that the lawyer would have gloried in doing so. "—but Mrs. Jung would have none of it. Instead, she asked if I would pass on an invitation to you."

Images of skating rinks, school recitations, birthday events, informal dinners, and piñata parties all crammed into Tony's mind and he gave an involuntary shudder. If it was any one, or all, of those things, he would have to seriously consider turning her offer down. Already he was having visions of the paparazzi cover photos and headlines in the tabloids: 'Notorious Womanizer Tony Stark Dines at Chuck-E-Cheese with Underage Girl – Celebrity Pedophile?'

He was awakened from this nightmare by a quick tap on the desk as Mr. Botoni straightened the stack of papers and tucked them under his jacket. "Agent Coulson will fill you in on the details, but all you are obligated to do is meet with Mrs. Jung in private. She will make the request and all further arrangements herself. Shall I send her your regrets, Mr. Stark?"

Tony stared blankly down at the birth certificate on the desk. The corners had curled up beneath his fingertips, but the bold type stared back at him in mockery: FATHER. It was a bitter title, one that his own father had barely warranted. And yet directly beneath it was _his_ name in all caps.

Anthony Edward Stark.

Had circumstances been different, that might have been Lila's last name, too… and Christina, whoever she was, wouldn't have grown up in the foster system. But he couldn't go back and undo past decisions, any more than he could attach the term "father" to his own name now. That one night had been the worst mistake of his life.

When he glanced up again, Mr. Botoni was waiting by the office door, his finger on the handle. "Well?"

Uncomfortably aware that he was making the second-worst mistake of his life, Tony released an unsteady breath and straightened, pushing the chair away from the table, though his knees were shaking almost too badly to stand. "…I'll go."

"And that's more than I expected. Agent Coulson. Mr. Stark." With a terse nod, the lawyer turned the handle, stepped out into the back room of the carpet shop, and disappeared with the muffled jangling of a doorbell.

The silence he left in his wake was deafening. After a few tense moments, Coulson stood as well and smoothed his rumpled tie. "I think that was a wise decision."

Tony pulled up the hood of his sweater and hesitated, watching the agent. He moved like an old man, slow and deliberate, and even his voice seemed different. Softer. Less sure of himself. A startling contrast to the cocksure confidence he had exuded as long as Tony had known the Director's right-hand man.

"But why…" Tony waved a hand, too flabbergasted for words. "Why did you even take the time to… look into this?"

Coulson picked up the certificate in both hands, holding it under the light. "I died," he reminded him simply, smoothing his thumb over the paper. "And when I died, I left behind unfinished work… and… some regrets. You deserved to know." He pulled his shades out of his pocket, but didn't put them on right away. "Don't let this be one of your regrets, Mr. Stark."

With a last, forced smile, Coulson pressed the certificate into Tony's hand. "We won't be needing this. Her file and all associated records have been destroyed. Lila would have wanted it that way."

_Destroyed?_ With mingled emotions of spite and reverence, Tony crumpled the paper in his hands and stuffed it into his sweater pocket. He wished they had destroyed the certificate, too... and he had the feeling that Coulson would do it if he asked him to. But his fingers inadvertently tightened on the little document, and he said nothing.

Presently, it seemed that there was nothing more to be said by either party. As one the two men turned toward the door, and Coulson held it open for both of them to pass through. They were greeted by the bright lights and florid colors of the shop, and Tony was forced to blink profusely as they made their way through the racks of rolled carpet to the front of the store.

A small bell jingled as they pushed outside, and Tony was immediately blasted with the rush of traffic and the warm afternoon smells of restaurant food, car exhaust, wet paint, perspiration, and hot concrete.

For a moment, as if by mutual consent, they stood there, hands in pockets, on the sidewalk. Tony said nothing, and Coulson was likewise silent for several minutes. They stood together against the hustle of the Big Apple, letting the tide flow around them.

And then Coulson turned his gaze on Tony. It was a hauntingly empty visage, stripped of all emotion, and it rattled the billionaire to the bone. Everything that had been said that day paled against the agent's sober stare. "SHIELD keeps secrets. That's their job. It's been their job as long as I've been working under the Director… But some secrets aren't meant to be left in the dark, locked up in secure storage where no man can touch them—" Coulson's voice caught slightly, and he glanced down, briefly brushing his hand over the rumpled sleeve of Tony's sweater as he passed. "Even when the man is touched most by the secret."

For a moment, Tony watched Coulson's retreating form, too thoughtful to notice that the light had turned white on the crosswalk. It wasn't until he was well and truly out of sight, lost among the hectic traffic and bustling pedestrians of New York City, that Tony realized he'd forgotten to ask him where to meet Mrs. Jung.

With a beleaguered, growling sigh, the billionaire jerked the certificate out of his pocket and uncrumpled it, glaring at the finely printed letters. And then a folded corner caught his eye.

An ink blotch.

Tony flipped the certificate over and stared at the back. The eerie knowledge that—some how—some way—Coulson had _known_ he would keep the certificate faded before the handwritten note carefully penned onto the back:

_Meet Mrs. Jung at the St. Jude Children's Research Hospital, 5:00 PM tomorrow._

_No more secrets._

_Phil_

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><p><em>Thank you so much for sharing this story with me—we're almost at The End.<em>

_Review for the third and final chapter!_

_~Alassiel_


	3. One Night

_I can't believe it's been over a year since I updated this story! Time flies too fast, sometimes. But for everyone who has stuck with it until now, hoping for an update, this next chapter is for you. I unintentionally lied about it being only three parts - it divided more conveniently into five (the last one being a short prologue, still unwritten). So I present to you the third part of this little fic! :)_

_I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again: this story has become much bigger and taken on more life of its own than I could have imagined. Whether I complete _The Last Night _depends on how crazy life gets and how many people are actually interested in an update. Whatever the case, thank you for taking the time to read this installment, and I hope it blesses you in some way. _

_Enjoy._

_~Alassiel_

* * *

><p>Part Three: One Night<p>

**_"_****_There is nothing that moves a loving father's soul  
><em>****_quite like his child's cry."  
><em>**

**_― Joni Eareckson Tada_**

It was a warm evening. The sky was streaked with purple and the headlights glowed yellow in the dusky light as they neared, leveled, and passed by.

Tony trudged down the sidewalk, hands in pockets, beanie cap pulled low over his eyebrows. A twig from the low hedgerow in the neighboring parking lot snagged on his jeans. Shrugging his jacket higher around his neck, Tony stepped into the barkdust and made his way down the parking lot, hating the muffled sound of his sneakers clapping emptily on the pavement.

There were too many cars to count, but it looked like a mere handful against the number of neat white parking stripes that gleamed under the street lights.

Most people had more sense than to spend any time at a children's hospital on a Friday night. Tony could think of many more agreeable places… the movie theater, his garage, a favorite restaurant… He'd stopped at a fast food joint on his way to the hospital, but found his appetite utterly lacking and only managed to shove down half a sandwich before throwing the rest in a public trash can.

The grand, pretentious double-door entrance waited ahead of him, bathed in a sterile whitish glow that didn't look at all inviting.

Someone was waiting in the shadows.

The only figure in the parking lot; her face was cast in darkness, but she was tall and her arms were crossed.

Tony glanced both ways—although there was really no need—and hurried across the parking lot. She looked up as he approached, blinking in the light. Her hair was black with a few glaringly silver strands and hung just above her shoulders, and her eyes were creased with age.

"Mrs. Jung?"

The wrinkles around her mouth relaxed and her jet black eyes sparkled at him in the sharp shadows. "Mr. Stark."

"Okay," he said quickly, stuffing his thumbs in his pockets. "I'm here. What do you want?"

She sighed, and stared at him some more. It wasn't a friendly stare, or a lustful stare, or an empty stare. It was something else that he couldn't quite put a name to...

Tony shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't have all night," he mumbled, trying to wriggle out from under her gaze.

"All I need is one hour of your time," said Mrs. Jung, tilting her head to one side so that the artificial light sparkled off the gray streaks in her hair. "Do you have one hour?"

He shifted again, the concrete grinding under the heel of his sneaker. "…Yes."

"Then come with me."

Allowing himself to give up his sense of direction and surrender to that uncanny feeling that fate was pulling him—for nothing else could explain why he was here at all—Tony followed this strange woman into the bright and sterile atmosphere, through the nearly empty lobby, into an elevator (during which there was an excrutiatingly awkward silence), down another set of halls, up a flight of short stairs, and into a small corridor on the top floor. A few chairs and a wall-spanning set of windows formed a dead-end, and the hall stretched down to a brighter corner and a bathroom he could barely see at the end.

"She's in Room 22C, but I have a feeling you'll recognize it without the number." Mrs. Jung waved a hand. "Remember, her name is Christina."

"I remember her name," Tony grumbled, a little annoyed that Mrs. Jung didn't even give him that much credit.

"Good. She knows you're coming, and she knows who you are."

"You mean..."

"No. She knows you're her biological father, and that's all. She's been pestering me for information about you and her mother ever since we adopted her. I finally relented and told her that Lisa Harding passed away, but once she knew you were still alive she's insisted on meeting 'my real dad.'" Mrs. Jung paused and swallowed once, passing a hand over her cheek and glancing away. "I didn't want to contact you, but it would be criminal to refuse a child her... greatest wish... if it is at all possible."

Tony swallowed a queasy sensation and stuffed his hands in his sweater pockets. "You're not coming in?"

"No," Mrs. Jung said again, giving him another critical stare. "Don't make me regret this."

They held gazes for several weighty seconds, which must have been meant to impress upon Tony the gravity of this privilege. It succeeded, and he nodded silently.

Without another word Mrs. Jung turned around and walked back down the empty hall, her heels clicking on the scrubbed tiles and echoing long after she had disappeared from view.

_Okay... no big deal... I can handle this._ Tony weakly tried to convince himself of his own capability, sauntering down the hallway with his hands in his pockets. His fingers twitched against his cell phone and the wild thought of calling Pepper flashed through his mind, not for the first time that evening. But he had made his decision. There was no reason to involve Pepper in this, and it hadn't been part of the arrangement. He had lied, telling her he had some unspecified business at SHIELD. He could do this alone.

Hopefully.

Not even a swagger could add to his confidence and it seemed a bit sacrilegious in a place such as this, so he quickly dropped the facade and just tried to walk without slinking. It wasn't until he was halfway down the quiet hall that he realized what Mrs. Jung had meant by 'you'll recognize it without the number.'

There was no name, but the door to Room 22C had been decorated with sheets of paper and a few prize ribbons. Tony slipped a finger under a small blue ribbon and tilted the embossed words toward the hallway light. _First Place: Greenview Elementary Robotics Contest._ The other ones were both for mathematical achievements, and the papers were report cards from six months ago. Straight A's. There were no report cards from this past semester.

The longer Tony stared at the door, the more haunted he felt by the unknown presence beyond it. It was a mirror of his past self. She had been moved up several grades, from the looks of the papers. Seven years old... so young, so brilliant. But Tony knew he couldn't base his judgments on academic achievements. Whoever she was, he doubted she wanted to be known only as a child prodigy. She was a little girl who needed a friend.

But Tony couldn't help glancing through the tiny window in the door before opening it. He was unexpectedly struck cold by what lay behind. It would have been a plain and unassuming hospital room but for the pink flowers on the windowsill and the birthday balloons tied to the bed. A few girly children's outfits - small jeans, shirts, and sweaters - had been draped across a chair, but they looked too perfect, as if they had never been touched. Pictures of family and friends had been tacked to a bulletin board on the far side of the room, along with other mementos like the ones on the door. Things that he could only assume were meant to cheer her up, but paled in the sterilized, unfriendly environment.

It was a grotesque thing, like a monster dressed in a princess's clothes; a gilded chamber of pain, masquerading as a child's bedroom.

He could see the corner of the bed through the window, but didn't lean any further. Better to wait and see this child without any barriers between them that might cloud his view. After all, they only had one chance to gather a first impression of one another, however unideal the circumstances.

Taking a breath to steady his hand, Tony grasped the handle and opened the door a crack.

He could see the bed now, but there was no child lying on it, at least not the child he had envisioned.

Just a skeletal ghost in a hospital gown.

She was clearly bald underneath a plain purple beanie - which ironically appeared to be the same brand as his, just in a smaller version - and the color of the hat matched the circles around her eyes. An open copy of _Scientific American_ was loosely clasped in her hands, but her eyes were nearly closed and he wondered if she had been starting to fall asleep when he walked in. Her cheeks were hollow and she had a peculiarly mature look about her, as if the aging process had been supernaturally fast-forwarded and created an adult trapped in the body of a child. It was horrific just to look upon, and Tony almost turned to leave.

But as he tightened his grip on the handle, the door let out a gentle squeak.

The child's eyes opened, and he was startled to see that they were exactly the same shade of brown as the ones that stared out at him from the mirror every morning.

"He-llo-" His voice cracked in the middle, and he paused to clear his throat. "...Christina."

She stared unabashedly up at him, her dark-rimmed eyes taking in every detail. Tony felt positively criticized, but waited in the doorway without fidgeting. After about a minute of silent scrutiny, she concluded, "I thought you'd be taller."

Even her voice, though the voice of a child, had a surprisingly cynical edge.

He glanced down at his shoes and then looked back at Christina. "Sorry."

She said nothing.

He wasn't sure how to interpret that uncanny stare.

"It's okay," she said after a moment of thought. "You can come in anyway."

Tony stepped cautiously into the room, closing the door behind him and listening to the restless humming and stale buzzing that filled any hospital room. He wondered how she could get any sleep at all.

"Should I... do you want me to..." He trailed off awkwardly, his mouth drying out.

Her eyebrows scrunched together in an expression that was not quite irritation and not quite sadness, and wordlessly patted the empty space next to her on the plaint white bed. Her fingers were still somewhat short and childish, but her arm looked just as thin and breakable as the rest of her body.

It wasn't until he had crept halfway across the room on his squeaky sneakers that he noticed the posters upon the wall. A few of them were techy movie posters from hard science fiction films that no child should be watching, but the one in the center of them all shocked him speechless.

It was an inflated cover of _Popular Mechanics_ magazine, and the cover image was the head and shoulders of Tony Stark in full Iron Man armor. He couldn't remember posing for that photo shoot, but he always lost track of his own publicity stunts.

He glanced back at Christina, but she was watching him with that same listless expression, and after several seconds he realized she didn't recognize him in his hat, glasses, and civilian clothes. To a child - any child - he must seem an entirely different person without the armor...

"Nice poster," he said numbly.

Christina shrugged. "He's cool." She didn't say anything else, but Tony saw her sneak a glance at the poster before weakly trying to push herself up on the pillows and going back to her _Scientific American_ magazine. It was too late for him not to notice the glimmer in her eye. He went weak at the knees and seriously considered excusing himself to throw up in the bathroom down the hall.

What a horrible joke.

What a horrible, terrible, _awful _thing for Mrs. Jung to make him find out on his own.

He took off the glasses and folded them, slipping them into his sweater pocket with shaking fingers. She didn't glance up, or make any sort of remark. Should he tell her? It might be a quick way to her heart...

But the words _I am_ _Iron Man_ died on his lips.

Suddenly they made him ashamed.

Suddenly he felt inadequate, reluctant to claim his identity in front of this little girl.

Suddenly he didn't want to _be_ Iron Man.

She didn't want a hero, or a celebrity.

She wanted a father. A _real_ father. A friend, protector, and confidant. Something Tony reflected he had never been, for anyone.

Telling her that she was Tony Stark's bastard child wouldn't be a dream come true – it would be a trip down nightmare alley. Her idol, her role model – that wasn't him. It was a set of playing cards, a poster hanging on the wall, an empty autograph. It would be selfish to take that away from her.

He wasn't the man she needed him to be, on either front… but now was his chance to try. She seemed indifferent to his presence in that cold-lit hospital room, but Tony knew it was a ruse. Mrs. Jung's persistence in coaxing him here convinced him that she might be willing to overlook his shortcomings for one night.

For one night, Tony realized with a certain amount of awe, he had the rare opportunity to be a nobody.

A nobody to the rest of the world—but a very important somebody to this fatherless child.


End file.
